


Just Like Acid Pops

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-23
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2019-01-19 23:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12420657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Because every legend has a thousand versions, this is the story of the Marauders (and Lily, of course) from seventh year onward. This is the story of secret taverns, stolen motorcycles, fingertip kisses, barefoot dancing, and the search for the spirit to face the worst evil. Their fight was their glory. Their fall was their fame.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

  
Author's notes: 1  


* * *

Disclaimer above :) 

Prologue

 

As dusk settled over the June sky, a chill swept through Turners Hill, West Sussex, following the dirt roads leading past the tiny village. It grew more prominent, gilding itself into sheets of ice on wilting daffodils and clinging to the air like cold poison as it slithered over the hill and plunged into a small valley. There was another old village here, this one rather unfortunate compared to Turners Hill. Old stacks of wood and stone fell onto each other in the poor imitation of a parish, surrounded by equally dilapidated houses. One or two chimneys released an exhausted sigh of black soot, which grasped at air then fell like powdered rain. Despite the poor circumstances there was jovial laughter issuing from the old parish that penetrated the eerie silence. 

A stranger glided to the door, his long, black robes grazing the pebbled earth. He pulled his hood close around his head, shrouding his face from view. Only his eyes remained visible – crimson, cold, arrogant, unyielding. He had come for something, and he would not leave without it. His slit-like nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath, sifting through the smells until, recognizing the right one, he snapped his head to his left and dropped his eyes to the ground. 

There was an unnaturally large paw print – faint and almost unrecognizable, but apparent to his keen eyes. He followed the trail around the side of the church to the back, where a pitiful vegetable garden slumped meekly before a small forest. Crushing the sprouting tomatoes under his foot with disdain, the stranger turned abruptly, his ears apparently catching the sound of an unwelcome guest. A twig cracked and the stranger advanced towards the sound. 

The light of the waxing moon revealed the plump figure of a man dressed in brown overalls. He’d stepped out from the back door of the parish, wanting some fresh air to pacify his asthma. The room inside reeked of cheap alcohol and uneaten cake; the man (and his lungs) sought a break from the festivities. The stranger regarded him with an air of mixed disgust and amusement. The man was not one of his kind.

“May I help you, sir?” said the man with a friendly smile. “We don’t get lots o’ outside folks ‘round ‘ere.”

The stranger’s lip curled. He had no time for this. His appointment was late, and he despised waiting. But he wondered the reason for the function going on inside. There certainly wasn’t much to celebrate in the dingy town. Perhaps he could amuse himself for the time being by causing some sort of...catastrophe…accidentally, of course. He wouldn’t want anything horrible or painful to harm innocent Muggles…His thin lips twitched.

“Why do you rejoice?” he asked coldly.

The man did not seem to notice the unfriendliness. He answered with another smile.

“Why, sir, we got a lot to be thankful for, sir.” The stranger glanced around scornfully, but the man continued, “We just finished repaintin' our church, sir." He gestured to the white building before them. "But in our communi'y it's more than that. We all got love, sir, an’ the blessing o’ life!”

The stranger regretted his question. His time had been wasted listening to the naive optimism of the villager.

“The blessing of life…” The stranger repeated, his voice laced with irony.

How quickly he could shatter this man’s “blessing”…It would be like killing a fly…a mere mortal…a weak, pathetic thing. Quite unlike the stranger – no, he possessed powers beyond the wildest dreams of the man before him.

A shift in the stranger's demeanor suddenly alerted the man to danger, and his forehead trickled with cold sweat. The stranger noticed, and his mouth twisted into a sickening smile.

“A blessing indeed,” he said. 

He pulled out a long, thin, wooden stick from the depths of his robes and flicked it most casually at the parish. An ear-splitting shriek sliced through the air. As the man watched in horror, red flames erupted in a ring around the building, licking the newly-painted walls and trapping the people inside. Paralyzed with shock, the man didn’t notice the second jerk of the stranger’s wrist anymore than he anticipated the jet of neon green light that sent him stumbling backwards. He collapsed on the ground, the blessing of life snatched away from him unmercifully. 

“Marvelous, my Lord,” said a voice from the shadows of the forest.

Lord Voldemort did not turn, but instead surveyed the scene before him. The Muggle lay crumpled in the dirt, where he belonged, deaf to the screams of terror coming from the people trapped in the parish. They could wait. The fire wouldn’t be what killed them that night…

“You’re late, Fenrir,” Voldemort said, disappointment evident in his tone.

“My Lord, there was a holdup, I-”

“That will do.” Voldemort finally turned to face the kneeling man before him. 

Fenrir Greyback looked like a monster. He was tall and bulky, his face was scarred and scruffy, his body cut and bruised, and his eyes glazed over permanently with a wild, deranged savagery. He was everything Voldemort desired.

“I have a task for you, Fenrir.”

Greyback rose hesitantly, still maintaining a respectful – rather, a fearful – distance.

“Does it concern the young boy, my Lord?” he asked.

Voldemort waved his arm dismissively. “He has joined me recently, as I knew he would. But enough – he intrigues me no longer. It is his brother whom I desire – the brother and his three little friends. Coaxing such talent to our side can only benefit me, Fenrir.”

“And my place in this, my Lord?”

“You are to recruit them. I’ve left you an early reward.”

Greyback’s eyes strayed to the parish, which both of them had been ignoring. The fire did not come close enough to burn the building, but the chaos continued as people tried to find a way through the ring of flames. Greyback licked his lips greedily, but turned back quickly to Voldemort. He still looked confused, as he was usually not called upon for the recruitment of…normal…Death Eaters.

“Why me, my Lord?”

”One of the four carries your mark, Fenrir. Perhaps you remember him? His name is Remus Lupin.”

 

 


	2. The Kings

Disclaimer: JKR's! 'Nuff said.

 

 Chapter 1

 

Three hundred kilometers away – at the exact same moment that the Muggle breathed his last – the tiny, wrought iron gate of an elegant cottage in Godric’s Hollow creaked open. There was a muffled thud as a large wooden luggage trunk whizzed by, barely avoiding crashing on the front porch.

“Shhh!” hissed a male voice, rough with sleep. 

“Sorry!” a second one answered. “So much for inconspicuous.”

“That’s always been a lost cause with you.”

“Right. Look who’s talking. You really ought to put an Anti-Creaking Charm on that gate.”

“I doubt that even exists.”

“Where’s Remus when you need him?” the second said, amused. He pushed his long, shaggy black hair impatiently off his face, deep gray-blue eyes searching the darkness for his friend.

The first boy moved into the glow of the streetlamp, grinning from ear to ear. He, too, had black hair, but his was wild, disorderly, and unmanageable. His honey-colored eyes were framed with round glasses that flashed under the light. 

“Sirius.”

“James.”

They sauntered forward, clapping each other on the back and embracing like long-lost brothers. 

“Planning to keep me out here all night, Prongs? I see how it is,” Sirius said. James laughed, and they broke apart with identical grins.

“How’s your mum?” Sirius asked as they loped with a comfortable, easy grace to the front door.

“Alright. Been spending an awful lot of time with Mrs. Vance discussing _gardening_. Merlin knows why she wants to start all that. She’ll be right surprised to see you here.”

“Your mum loves me, Prongs.” Sirius said as he followed James through the door and let it slam shut behind him.

“Don’t reckon she’ll love you much if you wake her up with all that noise. C’mon.”

They crossed the entryway and continued down the hall, past the kitchen, the dining room, and into the living room towards a wide staircase.

“ _Wingardium leviosa_ ,” James whispered, pointing his wand at the trunk and floating it up the stairs through an open door at the end of the upstairs hall. The two boys climbed up after it, and at the landing, James stopped abruptly. “Hang on,” he said. He turned the handle to the first door on the left, the master bedroom where his parents still lay sound asleep. “You’re lucky they’re so deaf,” he whispered, scowling jokingly at Sirius, who shrugged. “But just for good measure…” James pointed his wand at each of his parents in turn, quietly muttering, “ _Muffliato_.”

Sirius raised a quizzical eyebrow at him as they backed out, shutting the door quietly and continuing down the hall to James’s room.

“That’s a new one,” he remarked, referring to the spell. James answered with a mischievous smile, which Sirius promptly returned when he understood. “One of Snape’s inventions?” he guessed.

“We owe him a lot, that git,” James replied. 

He grimaced as they entered his room. It was of modest size, painted emerald green, and had a large window on the farthest right wall under a low, slanted ceiling. The curtains fluttered in the chilly night air; James had left the window open in anticipation of Sirius’s arrival. (It looked out on the front yard, where the creaking gate was still ajar.) 

Consistent with his unkempt hair, James's bedroom was a mess. It had an air of carelessness to it, as if he just couldn't be bothered to return things to their proper places. All the drawers of the dresser on the opposite wall were left open a few inches, each only half full. Most of the clothes – jeans, socks, boxers, t-shirts – lay in crumpled piles all over the wooden floor. There was a small desk cluttered with torn, ink-stained parchment. The wall adjacent to it sported a medium-sized, ebony bookshelf, from which spellbooks threatened to tumble out of whatever sliver of space they’d been shoved into. The off-white sheets of the bed were unmade, and the walls were cluttered with moving posters of Puddlemere United. It seemed almost unfit to live in, but James managed. 

Sirius didn’t seem to mind the mess (his own room rivaled James’s) but he wrinkled his nose at the bookshelf.

“Turning into Alice Jones, are you?” He asked, snickering. Alice Jones was a fellow Gryffindor in their year, famous for being the most overachieving girl at school.

“Only because you lot made _me_ keep all of them after our…erm…escapades.”

“Did we really use that many books? I know the Transfiguration was a bit advanced, but that’s half the library!” Sirius said incredulously.

James looked rather pleased. “I know. We stole all those without that bird-banshee even noticing.”

“What can I say?” Sirius said, flipping his hair dramatically. “Pince just loses herself in my charm.”

“Or in Filch’s,” James snorted. 

"Speaking of Filch, his cat looked rather peaky last I checked,” Sirius said, mockingly somber.

“As good citizens, we really ought to kick it out of her,” James agreed. “He’ll thank us one day.”

“We truly are quite the gift to society.”

“Never ceases to amaze me,” James replied, grinning. He pulled out his wand and waved it a few times, conjuring a makeshift bed across from his own. It looked a bit old and hard, and the sheets felt thin and rough, so James brandished his wand again and summoned a tattered, lopsided quilt. He glanced apologetically at Sirius. “Best I could do, mate.”

“’Spose we ought to wait till your mum finds out I’m here.” Sirius replied, snickering at the mess in front of him. “She’s a whole lot better at all this household stuff than you are.”

It was impossible to miss the appreciation in his smile as he mentioned Mrs. Potter – warmth he never expressed for his own mother.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, James woke up at a ghastly hour: nine o’clock. Nine o’clock in the _morning._ On a Sunday. A _holy_ day. He proceeded to spend the next five minutes glaring at his ceiling, as if admonishing it for waking him. Realizing then that it was probably the fault of whatever bird was chirping noisily near the still open window, he turned instead to glower at its nest in the birch tree in the front yard.

He gave a little start upon discovering the sprawled out form of his best friend, drooling gracefully a few feet away. Why was _he_ still sleeping? James felt around for his glasses and wand on the closed trunk that he was using as a bedside table. Finally finding both, he levitated crumpled parchment pieces from his desk to throw at Sirius, repeatedly tapping his head. When it became quite obvious that Sirius’s skull was far too thick to recognize such motions, James set his sights on an old Transfiguration textbook. He hovered it high above Sirius’s head, then let it crash down with a loud smack. 

“Bloody _hell_!” Sirius cried, sitting up and looking around wildly. Finally spotting James through tiredness, he scowled. “And I was expecting Voldemort.”

James rolled his eyes. “Get up. I’m hungry.”

Muttering under his breath about “abusive mates”, Sirius stretched and rolled grumpily out of bed. Two minutes later, they entered the kitchen to the smell of sizzling sausages and buttered toast. James's stomach growled loudly.

“Mum –” 

“James, darling, you’re up!”

His mother emerged from a nook near the stove, a flowery apron covering her purple robes, her head free of the black witch’s hat that normally covered her graying curls. She smiled cheerily at James, who let out a startled cry as she whizzed past him and engulfed Sirius in a fierce, motherly hug. The two boys blinked confusedly at each other over her head. She finally broke away and held him at arm’s length. 

“You’ve grown so much,” she said fondly. “An inch taller than James now, are you?”

“Thanks so much, Mum,” James remarked dryly from behind her.

“Oh hush. Daniel’s just gone to get the paper. He’ll be quite pleased to see you.”

James had been slightly apprehensive about his mother’s reaction to Sirius’s arrival. He wasn’t sure if she would contently harbor a fugitive of sorts, but it _was_ , after all, Sirius, and he’d always been part of the family.

“You’re hungry, of course,” Mrs. Potter continued. “All that growing’s left you rather peaky. I’ve got sausages in the pan, and the eggs are already on the table.”

Mrs. Potter led them to the dining room through a doorway on the other side of the kitchen. It was a warm room, painted a light orange, with a six-person mahogany table in the center and two glass showcases displaying the Potters’ finest china. A chandelier hung low from the ceiling, its teardrop crystals throwing rainbows on the wall as sunlight poured through the windows.

All this, James never found interesting. What did catch his eye were the four plates lying on the table. Four, not three, places set for breakfast. Which meant…

“You knew?” James asked incredulously, turning to his mother. 

Mrs. Potter returned his gaze with a grin so like the one almost permanently affixed to his own face that he did a double take.

“I’m not as old as you think, you know,” she said.

“I don’t think you’re old, Mum, just-”

“The gate is rather loud, dear. Not that it matters,” she said, addressing Sirius now. “You’re always welcome here. Merlin knows you need a real mother once in a while.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Potter,” Sirius replied, slightly embarrassed by the affection, but no doubt agreeing with her.

“Well, eat, will you? And mind you, don’t give any to Prince Howard. He’s terribly allergic.”

At the mention of his name, the Potters’ white Irish Wolfhound trotted into the room, his odd green eyes searching the trio curiously. He lifted his nose, hopeful to catch a whiff of meat, but was instead met with another, far more interesting scent. Suddenly excited, he bounded over to Sirius, rattling the chandelier with his heavy paws, and began licking him fervently. 

Sirius laughed and patted Prince’s head affectionately. 

“How’ve you been, old boy?” 

James snorted. “Sirius Black charmed by a dog…oh, the irony.”

Mrs. Potter missed Sirius’s answering smirk as she firmly tugged Prince Howard away and unlocked the sliding glass door that led to her vegetable garden in the backyard.

“Breakfast is on the patio, Prince,” Mrs. Potter said, sliding the door open.

Prince obediently made for the bushel-sized bowl that stood near an array of bright flowers. With a wag of his tail, he began sloppily attacking his meal. Mrs. Potter stared worriedly after him. 

“He’s gotten so big he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Poor dear,” she said.

The words had barely left her mouth before they heard a crash, the tinkling of glass, and frantic barking. They peaked outside in shock, only to find the wolfhound covered in dirt, a broken glass vase at his feet and a few white petals clinging to his fur.

Mrs. Potter let out a furious shriek. “Prince Howard, you devil!” 

James sighed. 

“Looks like your anti-gnome daisies, Mum,” he said sadly, already feeling sorry for Prince, who'd just managed to ruin his mum’s favorite exotic flower. 

Mrs. Potter stormed out the kitchen and onto the patio with her wand brandished, her shrill scolding painfully audible. Prince whimpered abashedly as she shot a strong jet of water at him to clean the dirt off. Sirius gaped after her. 

“And here I thought she was sweet and good-natured,” he joked.

Despite his continuous jesting remarks and accompanying grins, James discerned the underlying weariness, loneliness, and bitterness etched into his friend’s face. Sirius glanced up and noticed James’s critical stare. His grin faded and for once, for just a fleeting moment, he didn’t bother keeping up any pretenses to conceal his pain. 

 

* * *

 

The streets of London, glittering with light and life, wound themselves into a tangled mass as they led away from the city, morphing into narrow alleys lined with shoddy townhouses. With front yards barely four square feet, framed by concrete sidewalks and scraggly stone steps, the houses were dull and lifeless. Number 3181, Autumn Way was identical to its neighbors, distinguishable only by the scarlet and gold fabric tied permanently above the door. Through this door and up a few creaky stairs, Peter Pettigrew escaped to his bedroom, crawling under the sheets and praying for sleep. His eyes were just closing when the front door flew open with a loud clang. A yellowish cat streaked out from under the bed, meowing indignantly.

Peter cringed and pressed himself closer to his mattress, breathing slowly in a fruitless attempt to calm himself. Heavy footsteps thudded around the dingy ground floor, stopping near the kitchen.

“Where are you, y’ lazy squib?” bellowed a man’s voice.

Peter swallowed. The footsteps resumed, nearing his room. A minute later, Mr. Pettigrew appeared in the doorway, still clad in his blue working robes. 

He had wispy blond hair and watery blue eyes quite like his son’s. His weight gathered heavily around his midsection, giving him the appearance of an unemployed drunkard, a manner that had carried into his speech after years of living among riffraff. 

He was not, however, actually unemployed. In fact, he could quite truthfully boast about working for the Ministry of Magic, a “mos’ noble profession fer a Gryffindor loyal to servin’ wizard kind,” as he enjoyed telling company. What he did like to keep more hushed up was his position as a Magical Maintenance worker. It was grueling work, really, running around the Ministry, checking the Atrium fireplaces for enough Floo powder, repairing the lifts, vanishing the owl droppings (as this was before the invention of Interdepartmental memos), and monitoring the enchanted windows. Nevertheless, he showed true dedication to his job and was duly rewarded when one day the Minister of Magic, Mr. Nobby Leach Jr., called at his home, looking around at the unimpressive surroundings and saying with all the proper disdain of a true leader, “Mr. Pettergrow, I am, er, pleased to inform you that in light of Mr. Alfred Notterbum’s recent retirement, you have been, er, promoted…to Head of the Magical Maintenance Squad…congratulations?”

Mr. Pettigrew now earned three galleons more per year. He was still, however, unsatisfied (despite his _grand_ estate and favorable living conditions), so like any father, he pushed his son to live a life better than his. He stood now in Peter’s doorway, arms crossed angrily in front of him as he glared at his son.

“What’ve you been doing all day, eh, you lazy mutt?” 

“I’ve…I’ve been…been helping…” came the feeble stutter of a reply.

“Been helpin’, have y’?”

“Been helping Grandmum.”

“Been helpin’ yer grandmum?” his father cried, torn between incredulity and fury. “Yer _Grandmum_? How many times do I gotta tell y’ the old bat’s gunna die any day now? Yer wastin’ yer time with her, boy. Help summun who’ll help _you_.”

“She needed me,” Peter insisted defensively.

“Oh pish posh,” Mr. Pettigrew scoffed. “Loads o’ people’re gunna need y’. Y’ gotta know which ones to help. Y’ wanna end up here, boy?” Mr. Pettigrew gestured around. “Y’ wanna live like a pig the rest o’ yer life? Naw, yer a Gryffindor. Y’ gotta make sumthun ov yerself an’ make yer house proud, y’ hear? There’ll be no wastin’ time under my roof. Y’ keep on like this and yer gunna end up a filthy squib, beggin’ like a Muggle on the streets.” He stood and made for the door, pausing to throw a last warning glance at Peter. “Y’ help the people who’re gunna help y’ win, son.”

 

* * *

 

            Remus Lupin woke with a start, sweat beaded on his forehead and matted through his hair, thoughts of red eyes and lipless sneers quickening his heartbeat, wild growls still ringing in his ears. He moved quietly to his feet, shaking as he walked to the kitchen, careful not to wake his parents. He grasped the counter, hastily lighting his wand as he searched for a glass.

“ _Aguamenti_.”

He drank hungrily, letting the water drain his fears. Momentarily relieved, he made for the stairs, anxious to get as much rest as possible before the full moon just days away. As he scrambled back into his bed, a small photo frame clattered to floor from his bedside table. Praying the noise went unheard, he reached for it and placed it back on the nightstand, purposely avoiding the faces grinning at him from behind the glass.

They were faces he’d cringed at frequently: four boys, arms around each other, healthy, carefree, and lively. Though figures of friendship, happiness, and inclusion to Remus, they also reminded him of every way he was different. They were the three whose lives he’d endangered just by association, the three whose fate he feared for more than his own. 

Remus fell asleep with thoughts of battle and despair, the war feeling more real to him with every passing moment. The Marauders, he realized, must fight, too.

 

* * *

 

They would fight, and one by one, they would fall – fall, perhaps, for a greater good. The Marauders were marked from the beginning, destined for greatness and consequently for tragedy. Their tale is bittersweet, wrought with passion, love, sorrow, and betrayal. Their happy ending lay not in their own stories, but in the future they created, the future that saw the demise of the Dark Lord. But before the world claimed their laughter, the Marauders were just four teenage boys – the kings of their time and symbols of power, intelligence, rebellion, and, above all, brotherhood. 

 


	3. Witch World

A/N – Sorry for the short chapters and all the jumping around in time. The beginning goes from character to character (kind of drabble-like, I know), but bear with me. It will all tie together soon enough. Oh, and since I don’t think I ever explicitly stated it, this takes place the summer after sixth year…they’re all of age now, so big changes for the Muggleborns!

 

Chapter 2

 

Nearly a fortnight before Sirius arrived at the Potters’ doorstep, a whistling crimson steam engine screeched to a stop at Platform 9 ¾, Kings Cross Station, London, reuniting the young witches and wizards of Hogwarts with their awaiting parents. The platform was tinged with a bittersweet air; students’ faces lit with joy for home and excitement for the holidays, but every second carried a backwards glance at the Hogwarts Express, bringing with it a sense of nostalgia. 

Last to exit the train was a group of four girls: a petite redhead, a tall, slim brunette, and two blondes. After prolonged farewells, promises of weekly updates, and eight teary eyes, the girls parted, and the redhead was left standing by herself.

Lily Evans sighed, her bright green eyes trailing after her friends, watching the reunions of their very _magical_ families with unmistakable envy. Lily’s gaze slid to her own parents, who stood awkwardly at the side of the platform, darting curious glances in every direction. Everything about them screamed _Muggle,_ from their wide eyes to their loud exclamations of excitement at everyday shows of magic. Though they were in their late forties, they looked like lost little first-years. Even Lily couldn’t suppress a tinge of contempt at their naiveté.

So much had changed. Just six years ago, that had been _her_ , standing clueless on the platform, a small, greasy-haired little boy her only guide. Gobstones, Chocolate Frogs, Quaffles, and the Weird Sisters were strange, extraordinary names (and even stranger phenomena themselves), and magic was still a bizarre, esoteric concept. Now that she was of age, however, it had become her world.

“Lily! Oh, Lily, there you are!”

“Mum! Dad!”

Lily felt herself grinning as her mother pulled her close and her father ruffled her hair.

“Lily, oh, we’ve missed you _so_ much!”

“I missed you too, Mum,” Lily replied, her voice muffled by her mother’s arm. “Where’s Petunia?” Lily asked, suddenly realizing that there hadn’t yet been any malevolent greetings from her horse-faced sister.

“She wanted to spend the day with Vernon. We tried to get her to come, Lily, but you know, she’s just turned eighteen and she’s decided not to listen much anymore.”

“Vernon _Dursley_?” Lily clarified incredulously. “That’s…that’s–”

“Lily.”

“You’re right, it’s too awful for words!”

Mr. Evans chuckled quietly and Mrs. Evans shook her head exasperatedly.

“Just be nice, alright?” she warned.

They started towards the barrier, Lily dragging her trunk noisily behind her with her parents trailing after. It was a bit of a walk (they’d met at the end farthest away from the barrier), so Mr. and Mrs. Evans took the opportunity to marvel at all the things they passed. It was worse than the end of her first year. At that time, Lily had been bursting to point out all the magic in the vicinity and hadn’t been able to stop chattering on about everything she’d learned. She had laid out her proud collection of eighty-three Chocolate Frog cards in her mother’s lap on the ride home and leaned over the seat to read each one aloud, grinning as her parents “oohed” and “ahhed” at the moving pictures, and growing smug when even Petunia inched forward to take a peak.

But now, after five years of the same routine, it was different. Now, she was so accustomed to the cries of Exploding Snap and the stray owls, the levitating trunks and the sudden Apparations, that her explanations had gone from enthusiastic to borderline exasperated. She continually reminded herself that these were her parents – her _Muggle_ parents – and she couldn’t expect them to know anything about the Wizarding World, but sometimes it was hard to filter the condescension out of her tone.

“We had a bit of trouble on the way in again,” Mr. Evans informed Lily as the trio finally approached the barrier. “Got a nice couple to help us – the Potters, I think they were.”

“They have a son your age, Lily,” Mrs. Evans added, nudging her daughter and grinning. “Nice boy. You know–”

“After you, Mum,” Lily interrupted pointedly, gesturing to the barrier. The last thing she needed was her mother liking James Potter. Was she the only one immune to his charm?

Mrs. Evans’s grin turned to a grimace. “Oh, this always makes me nervous.”

Gripping each other tightly, Mr. and Mrs. Evans marched determinedly through the barrier, leaving Lily to stare after them. The crowd at the station had thinned considerably since they’d disembarked, so Lily was able to gaze at the barrier with a peace marred only by her heavy thoughts. To her, the brick was more than an agent of the International Statute of Secrecy. It was a wall between magic – where she belonged – and the Muggle world – a land that grew increasingly foreign; it was a solid divide between her two lives. Although it was summer, and she was ecstatic to see her family once again, she couldn’t help but feel that though she drew closer to home, she drifted further from where her heart lay.

“Still here, Evans?” asked voice behind her.

Lily didn’t reply. 

“Going to stare at it all day, then?”

“…I think I’d rather be here than out there.” Lily gestured to the barrier and cocked her head to one side. “Is that bad?”

“Probably,” came the unsurprised response.

“I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?” Lily sighed.

“Depends who you ask.” There was a brief silence, and then, “Want some company?”

And so it came to be that while their families paced worriedly on the other side of the barrier, Lily Evans and Sirius Black sat down in front of it, united in their reluctance to return home.

 

* * *

 

            Once outside King’s Cross, Mr. Evans led them to the left, saying, “I had to park a few blocks away, but you don’t mind, do you Flower?”

“Dad,” Lily said, rolling her eyes, “I’m seventeen. I reckon that nickname’s a bit juvenile now, don’t you?”

Her dad laughed. “I waited until all your friends were gone. Isn’t that a start?”

“Baby steps,” Lily agreed. 

Lily sighed when they arrived in front of their 1973 Morris Marina.

“Mum, didn’t I tell you to get Dad a new car for Christmas?”

“If money grew on trees, darling,” her mother replied.

“Inflation, you know,” Mr. Evans said, tapping his head with his index finger and grinning at his wife.

Lily, who did not understand the humor, busied herself by trying to pry open the boot of the car. 

“You’ll get it when you meet Vernon,” Mr. Evans said. “He’s very…erm, knowledgeable about these things.”

He shot Mrs. Evans a look and they both snickered.

“But of course we’re not teasing him!” Mrs. Evans added hurriedly. “We support Petunia entirely, you know, Lily, as we _all_ should.”

“Dad you need to unlock this,” Lily reminded, choosing to ignore her mother.

Mr. Evans complied, and, once the door swung up, made to lift her heavy trunk into the empty space inside.

“Hang on,” Lily said. “I’ll get it.”

Her father raised an eyebrow dubiously. “Are you sure? It’s rather–” Lily flashed her wand at him. “Oh! I _see_.”

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” she recited, watching with satisfaction as the elementary spell caused her trunk to raise itself and settle neatly into the boot.

She turned to her parents victoriously. 

“I…er…forgot you could do that,” Mr. Evans said, amazed.

“Lily!” Mrs. Evans cried. “That was wonderful! I’d forgotten you’d – what was it?”

“Turned of age?” Lily supplied.

“Yes, of course! You wrote in your letter…but I didn’t imagine – We always see it on the platform, but now to watch _you_ do it, it’s…it’s…!”

Lily grinned.

“Fancy giving us a hand once in a while, Lil?” Mr. Evans suggested with a wink. “Reckon I might like having a grown witch in the family.”

“What else can you do, Lily? There must be a – a spell for _everything_! Can you cook magically? _Really_? And clean? And fold things? Oh, you’ll _have_ to teach me! Of course, not _actually_ , but I could watch a bit, right?” Mrs. Evans went on excitedly. 

“Mum!” Lily exclaimed, laughing despite herself. 

And as it turned out, Lily still had a bit of that talkative first-year left inside her, because as they slid into the car and buckled themselves in for the ride home, she was busy charming everything in sight. She beamed proudly with every gasp of admiration as she showed off her wandwork, but she couldn’t stop glancing at the seat beside her, wishing her sister were there to reluctantly admire it all too.

 

* * *

 

They arrived home to find a note on the table from Petunia – _Vernon’s for lunch. No food in fridge. See you at 2. Love, Petunia._

“What’s all this about no food?” Lily whined as soon as she read it. “Mum!”

Mrs. Evans sighed. “I go to the supermarket at least three times a week these days, and still that boy finishes everything.”

“Vernon? Can’t you just ban him from the house?”

“Your sister likes him very much, Lily,” Mrs. Evans replied, shooting Lily a “please be tolerant” look.

“If you say so. Did you make my cake?” Lily asked hopefully.

Every year, as a welcome home present, Mrs. Evans made the most delicious chocolate cake with layers of hot fudge and a spiral of whipped cream. Lily savored it like nothing else. The cake was her mother’s magic – inimitable, beyond the capabilities of a wand.

“Chocolate makes everything okay,” Mrs. Evans always claimed.

And it was true. It was almost as though that yearly cake brought the family together. For that one meal at least, they all (Lily and Petunia, that is) got along.

“The cake! Oh, darling, I was planning on doing that tomorrow,” Mrs. Evans replied. “Petunia said Vernon might come for dinner today, and I didn’t want him finishing the whole thing. And anyway, we haven’t got any of the ingredients. Which reminds me, I ought to go to the supermarket! Would you come with me, dear?” she asked, turning to her husband.

Mr. Evans reluctantly nodded. “You’ll be alright here by yourself, Flower? It’s just for an hour.”

“Must I bring up the matter of my age again?” Lily replied, fighting another eye-roll.

“Point taken. I’ll get the car, then, shall I, Rose?”

“I’ll just bring my purse,” Mrs. Evans answered. “And Lily? When we get back, tell me all about it, okay? School? And not all the boring stuff.” She grinned mischievously and squeezed Lily’s hand before dragging her purse off the counter and slinging it over her shoulder.

She was halfway out the door when Lily called, “Mum?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Want some help with the cake tomorrow?”

Mrs. Evans paused and turned to Lily, smiling. “I’d like that.”  

As the car pulled away, huffing and puffing in protest, Lily twirled her wand between her fingers, glancing around the living room with a quirked eyebrow. All the possibilities…the Ministry had made a grave mistake trusting her with magic. She’d always thought the couch might complement the room better if it was a deep burgundy instead of the current sandy brown…but then again, she’d always been complete crap at Transfiguration. Charms, however, was a different matter. Perhaps a Cushioning Charm, instead? She muttered the incantation and promptly threw herself onto the sofa, sighing delightedly as she sunk into the invisible pillows. 

Deciding she could use the same level of heavenly comfort on her bed, Lily forced herself up and mounted the stairs, pausing as she passed Petunia’s room. Oh, the destruction she could cause…but no. She’d promised herself she’d play nice this summer. (The same promise she made every summer since she began Hogwarts).

Half an hour later, there was a loud bang at the door. Startled, Lily shot up from her extraordinarily cozy bed (where she’d been procrastinating unpacking) and pulled out her wand. If the Ministry had realized their awful mistake and come to confiscate her wand, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She was about to charge down the stairs when a girlish squeal echoed through the house, followed by the shuffling of feet, some giggling, a soft thud, and a few strange noises that sounded very much like slurping. Curious, Lily tiptoed downstairs, wand leading the way.

“–not here,” someone whispered. “I reckon they won’t be back for another–”

The statement was interrupted by another fit of giggling and a shriek of “Vernon!” 

Lily stopped dead. _Vernon?_ That meant…

She stowed her wand away, rounded the corner, and stood in the doorway of the foyer, eyes wide with horror. “Tuney?”

The couple in the entryway froze, heads turning slowly towards the sound.

“Lily?” was the equally shocked response. 

Petunia stood against the closet door, hidden behind a beefy, sandy-haired boy, her face inches from his. He had an arrogant, pig-ish look about him, and although Lily had never met him before, she knew from her sister’s flushed cheeks and rather loud exclamation that this was the famous Vernon Dursley. 

“The car’s not here,” Petunia said after a moment’s awkward silence, as if that explained everything. She pushed Vernon away and smoothed her hair, avoiding Lily’s wide eyes. 

“The car’s not here,” she repeated, this time a hint of accusation in her voice, as if the whole situation was Lily’s fault.

The latter, still far too appalled to respond, simply stared back, open-mouthed, the image of Vernon making a meal of her sister’s face burned into her mind. To make matters worse, Petunia’s shirt was partly unbuttoned and Vernon’s eyes kept darting from Lily to her sister’s bra.

“Where are Mum and Dad?” Petunia asked, not bothering to welcome Lily home. She finally seemed to notice the state of her blouse and hastily re-buttoned it, cheeks darkening. Vernon’s face dropped to a frown.

“Lily!”

“Oh!” Lily jumped. She blinked, refocusing on Petunia’s scowling face, and slowly the shock began to wear off. “They went to the grocer’s…You dyed your hair,” she observed.

“Unfortunately you didn’t do the same,” Petunia snapped.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Lily asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. She’d planned on being friendly this summer and had hoped for some reciprocation (for once), but apparently some things never change.

When her sister didn’t make a move to comply, Lily stuck her hand out. 

“I’m Lily. It’s nice to meet you.”

Vernon regarded her hand as though it held a batch of fresh cow dung, but Lily, too busy amusing herself by silently assessing him, was not offended. He was tall and brawny, well on his way to obesity if he ransacked the fridge just as Mrs. Evans had claimed. His face was pinkish and his hair short and bristly. Lily couldn’t find a single attractive or remotely decent feature about him until she noticed a shiny piece of metal straining the pocket of his trousers. Her eyes strayed out the window, and sure enough there it was: a sleek new Cadillac. So _that’s_ what this was about. 

“Nice car,” she said, nodding outside.

“It’s–” Vernon caught Petunia’s glare and cleared his throat. “Er…yeah.”

Lily scowled. She’d been kind enough for one day, right?

“I’ll let you get back to what you were doing, shall I?” she said to Petunia. “Best enjoy it while it’s there.”

“At least one of us can,” Petunia sneered.

“Now there’s the loving tone I’ve missed.”

“You’re a little freak, Lily.”

“And my favorite insult, too! Mighty generous today, aren’t you, Tuney?”

“Er…Tunes?” Vernon interrupted. Lily snorted at the pet name. “If we’re not going to…well, er, anyway, I have to go to practice.”

“For what, the pie eating contest?” Lily mocked under her breath.

“He’s a _boxer_ ,” Petunia snapped, glowering at Lily.

“Top level, you know,” Vernon added, unable to contain his pride. 

Lily smiled sweetly at him. “ _Really_? That’s _marvelous_.” 

The sarcasm in her saccharine tone was lost on him, but he found Petunia’s scowl too pronounced to miss. Vernon clearly did not know how to handle an irate girlfriend. Lily fought back a chuckle.

“Right,” Vernon said, gaze flitting longingly to his Cadillac. “I should leave. I’ll, uh, I’ll call you, Petunia.”

“Vernon–” But he was already out the door, walking briskly back to his fancy car. “Happy?” Petunia cried, turning on Lily. “You’ve scared him off!”

“Says the one with the murderous scowl.”

“God, why do _I_ have to suffer just because _you’re_ a lunatic?”

“I’m terribly sorry to have saved your face from being chewed off by a man-pig,” Lily retorted.

“Don’t you get started on Vernon! He’s better than any man _you’ll_ ever find. And he’s got sense enough to not associate with _freaks_ like you.”

“ _What_? Did you _tell_ him I’m a w–”

“Of course not! Do you think being a friendless outcast is my goal in life? I just said you’re a deranged psychopath.”

“Guess it runs in the family.”  

 “I hope not.” 

“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh, Tuney? Another summer like this?”

“Looks like it.”

They glared at each other for a minute before Petunia scowled and pushed past Lily, knocking the wand out of her pocket and smirking when it clattered uselessly to the ground.

“Nice to have you back, Lil.”

“It’s been too long, _Tunes_ ,” Lily replied, gritting her teeth.

Tomorrow, maybe she’d try the whole amiability thing again. __


	4. The Forest of Avon

A/N I truly apologize for the whole year it's been since the last update...I have no excuses. I did, however, make this chapter much longer than the rest to make up for it! I promise to update more frequently (it's just that I can be perfectionist, and it takes a while to make a chapter sound good). Anyway, remember: the more you review, the more I write! Enjoy! PS: This takes place about two weeks after Sirius lands up at James's house.

 

The Forest of Avon

 

             
The evening of the thirtieth of June was in no way extraordinary: husbands returned home from work, shops closed their shutters for the day, and restaurants opened for dinner. Later in the night, groups of teenagers huddled together in parks and on street corners, dogs crowded around promising dumpsters, and rats scuttled through sewers in search of kitchen leftovers.

But for four boys, this last day of June marked something much more significant: the last night of the full moon.

Recently, the morning owls had been delivering horrifying reports in the Daily Prophet – Muggleborn Ministry officials missing, giant revolts, stray dementors, Muggle churches set on fire, and – ironically enough – werewolf attacks. Mr. and Mrs. Potter had grown increasingly reluctant to let James and Sirius out of their sight, and as a result, the two boys often found themselves cooped up in the house under strict surveillance. This overwhelming boredom left them yearning more than ever for the thrills of their full moon adventures.

Finally, after a day of tense anticipation, the sun began to set, sending streaks of orange and red across the cloudy sky. James and Sirius stood in the middle of the road outside the Potters’ house, concealed under a silky invisibility cloak, carrying nothing but their wands.

“Wish Moony’d been a little clearer on the location,” Sirius grumbled.

“Especially for Wormtail,” James added.

Sirius nodded solemnly. “We’re going to have a right old time finding this place. ‘Forest of Avon!’ he says. That’s a bloody huge place! Why can’t we just meet by the Lupins’ elder tree again?”

The Lupins had an old shed in their backyard, close to the forest, sitting under the canopy of a large elder tree. When he was a child, Remus suffered through every full moon within its confines; once Hogwarts began, the shed was used only in the summer months. The summer after their fifth year, when they became Animagi, James, Sirius, and Peter invited themselves to the elder tree to keep Remus company.

Shadows darkened the street as grey clouds passed overhead. James tilted his head slightly and surveyed the skies, the ghost of a frown creasing his forehead.

“Yeah, the shed…I dunno. I asked Moony, but I reckon he didn’t want to talk about it…sounded a bit agitated, if you ask me,” he said.

“We’ll get it out of him,” Sirius decided, shivering slightly in the cold.

“Doubt it. He’s always cranky during full moons,” James said.

“Can’t imagine why. No painful transformations involved or anything.”

James sniggered. “Right. Shall we?”

Sirius nodded, grinning. “Don’t mess up, Prongs.”

“As if.”

Both their faces adopted looks of immense concentration. An instant later, they simultaneously turned on the spot, stomachs jolting as their feet left the road and landed harshly on rough earth. Forest musk slowly replaced the country fragrance, and they stumbled out from a tangle of trees and vines, throwing off the cloak with identical self-satisfied smirks.

“Well done, mate,” Sirius said, nodding at James. “Only three minutes behind schedule.”

“Near perfection,” James agreed with a grin. “Hullo, Moony!” he added, noticing Remus sitting on a rock in a secluded clearing lined with a combination of fallen logs, vines, and leafy hickory trees. James and Sirius made their way to him, greeting him with friendly claps on the back.

“You look right knackered,” Sirius observed as the remaining sunlight highlighted the premature lines on Remus’s face.

“Yeah,” James said, “what’s wrong? Lycanthropy not agreeing with you?”

“Listen,” Remus said, standing up. “You lot shouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t start that nonsense again,” James replied.

“You’d think he’d learn,” Sirius said with mock disappointment.

“And we were bored,” James added. “I swear this is the first time we’ve been out in two weeks. We need some excitement.”

“Hear, hear,” Sirius agreed with a grin. “No offense, mate,” he said to James, “but your mum wasn’t very subtle in hovering around and trying to keep us out of trouble.”

James nodded. “We couldn’t even work on the map,” he informed Remus, who had been listening rather restlessly with his lips pursed. “I didn’t realize how much of the castle we still haven’t seen,” James continued. “I thought we had all the corridors to Hogsmeade mapped out right, but there’s a whole section that we’ve left blank. And some of the charms are wearing off. We’ve got to figure out how to fix that.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Remus began again. “You lot really shouldn’t–"

“Hey, by the way, where’s Peter?” James interrupted. He walked a few feet in each direction, peering around as if hoping to find his friend hiding behind a tree.

Remus sighed, resuming his seat on the rock with a resigned look, although his nervous foot tapping betrayed his true anxiety.

“We really shouldn’t let him travel alone,” Sirius groaned, referring to Peter. “Poor excuses for mates, we are.”

“He’s probably gone and splinched himself again,” sighed James.

“He did fail his test twice…” Sirius said. “Reckon we ought to go get him?”

“From his _house_?” James asked incredulously. “No, thanks. Remember the last time we did that? We were nearly beaten to death by his dad, that mad bloke.”

“Until he found out who you are, that is,” Sirius teased.

A tiny squirrel scampered past the clearing. Remus shifted uneasily.

“Thanks for the pleasant memory,” James grumbled dryly, rather _un_ pleasantly remembering the sudden friendliness Mr. Pettigrew displayed upon learning that James was “one o’ them Po’ers!”

“Made some good friends, eh, Pete?” Mr. Pettigrew had said. “That’s a way t’ make yer father proud. Be a bi’ like Mr. Po’er, here, dear boy, y’ hear? That’s th’ way t’ make me proud.”

“Six minutes late now,” Sirius said, checking his gold watch.

Remus’s foot tapped with increasing stress, but he remained quiet.

“Kept that, did you?” James asked, scrutinizing Sirius’s wrist.

The watch looked vaguely familiar and had the Black family crest engraved on the top. Sirius had received it from his mother when he turned of age the past January, but due to the recent rise in animosity between the two, James was beyond surprised that Sirius hadn’t cursed it to pieces yet. 

“I was going to destroy it, but my uncle – Uncle Alphard, you know him – said it may come in handy…something about how ‘timing is everything’,” Sirius explained.

“Smart bloke, your uncle.”

“Good man,” Sirius agreed. “You know I spent a couple of days with him before I landed up at your place, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s been right decent about this whole thing, so I thought I’d pay him a visit. Bit loopy, but he’s got the right idea.”

“The right idea meaning he likes making your mum hopping mad.”

Sirius grinned. “Loves it. You’ll never guess where he lives, though.”

“Isn’t he up in Lancashire?”

Sirius nodded, his grin widening. “Just outside Spinner’s End, actually.”

Remus looked up in interest.

“Spinner’s End?” James smirked. “Oh, spectacular! Run into ol’ Snivellus?”

Sirius sniggered. “Ah, but of course, my dear Prongs. I always make time for darling Snivelly…sent a sly _Tarantallegra_ his way. He didn’t see me. The poor bloke just danced down the road like a fool, looking completely bewildered and rather cross.”

“You’re a brilliant man, Padfoot,” James guffawed. “The neighbors must’ve had a good laugh.”

“Well, I know I did.”

“So, Spinner’s End…” James began, glancing inquisitively at Sirius. “Lily lives somewhere around there.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sirius replied, a sudden wariness in his tone.

Remus coughed.

“Did you…see her?”

“Well, yeah.”

“You _did_ see her?” James asked incredulously.

Sirius regarded him as though he’d grown a third head. “Just for a few minutes.”

“ _Why_?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“I mean, just – what, are you _mates_ now?”

“I guess, yeah,” Sirius answered, growing slightly irritated at the juvenile questions.

“Since _when_?”

“I dunno, shall I fetch my date book for you?”

“You’re mates enough to just _pop_ by each other’s houses for – for a bit of tea or something? How are _you_ mates with _her_? How come _you_ get to see her? How–”

“Bloody _hell,_ Prongs, would you shut it? What’s wrong with you? It’s not like Evans and I _snogged_.”

James dropped his wand in horror and took a few quick steps towards Sirius. “Padfoot, I swear to God, if–”

They were interrupted by a loud crack and heavy panting.

“Wormtail!” James exclaimed, relieved not only for his friend’s safety but also for the distraction that had preserved the shape of Sirius’s nose. “Took you long enough,” he said. “Splinch your brain off?”

“Ha—ha—very…funny,” Peter wheezed.

“Apparating isn’t Arithmancy, Wormtail,” Sirius added. “What happened?”

“Accidentally—Apparated—Muggle shop—had to—run—away.”

“I _told_ Moony you’d have trouble,” Sirius said, shaking his head.

“Right then,” James said, grinning at the pair of them, the past moment’s aggression forgotten. “Alright, Pete?”

Peter’s reply was cut short by Remus, who stood up again and faced the three of them.

“Look, now that you’ve all come, I’ve been trying to tell you this since you arrived: you shouldn’t be here!”

“Moony–”

“It’s not because I feel guilty, Prongs. There’s something – look, you don’t understand! You have to go home.”

“But we agreed–”

“I know what we agreed!” Remus’s voice took on a new urgency. “Listen, there’s reason I told you the elder tree isn’t safe anymore.”

James and Sirius exchanged a glance. Peter moved closer, brows furrowed in concern.

Remus looked hesitant. “I wasn’t going to tell you – I thought it would go away if we went somewhere else, but I think – I have a feeling it followed me.”

“Moony, what are you on about?” Sirius asked, slightly alarmed.

Remus sighed. “Last night,” he began, “I went down to the shed before sunset, like always. I was feeling a bit uneasy, although I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But then when I transformed–” He seemed to pale just at the thought. “–I started hearing all sorts of noises…I thought I was going insane.”

“Noises like what?” Peter asked, eyes wide.

“Like rustling, and twigs cracking, and footsteps. And then I heard something growling, and I was convinced I’d gone mad, but something just felt wrong.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “I was practically trembling, even as a wolf, and then I looked up and there, in the window of the shed, was a pair of yellow eyes watching me. I started backing into the corner, and the thing bared its teeth at me. Long, yellow fangs.” He suddenly clenched his jaw. “I should’ve recognized the scent! I should’ve been able to tell, but I was too busy cowering in the corner.”

“Moony…”

Remus shook his head. “It was a werewolf, Prongs. Another werewolf. And it had come _looking_ for me. Do you understand what this means?”

James looked up gravely. “He’s recruiting.”

“H-he-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” Peter gasped.

Sirius sneered. “Voldemort.”

Peter chewed on his lip. “Are you sure you weren’t imagining it?” he suggested, unconvinced.

“Of course I’m sure,” Remus retorted, offended.

“I didn’t mean it that way, mate. It’s just that you tend to, er, hallucinate a bit when you’re…not yourself.”

“Like that time you were convinced you were locked in a cage or something, so you kept throwing yourself against the wall and howling,” Sirius offered.

Remus let out an exasperated noise. “Trust me, that doesn’t happen anymore. Thanks to this.” He fished out a small flask from his jacket pocket and held it out for their examination.

“What is it?” James inquired.

“It’s Wolfsbane,” Remus explained.

“What’s that?” asked Sirius.

“This potion that’s supposed to help me keep my head during full moon. Keeps away the, er, dementia, I suppose you could call it. Invented a few months back by Damocles Belby – you remember him? Graduated five years ago.”

“I always knew that bloke would go places,” Peter remarked, nodding thoughtfully.

“Don’t they all, those Ravenclaws,” Sirius agreed, nodding along.

“So have you been brewing it yourself?” asked James.

Remus shook his head. “It’s far too complex of a potion. Dumbledore’s been sending a little to me on the sly – it’s not legal yet. Hasn’t been properly tested. The Committee on Potion Regulation up at the Ministry decided that wart-reducing draughts are more important than liquid remedies for symptoms of lycanthropy.”

A brief silence followed his sudden bitterness.

Sirius cleared his throat. “But, er, it seems to be effective, yeah?”

Remus sighed, his face sinking back into lines of exhaustion.

“Yeah,” he finally allowed. “It’s better than going insane.”

For the first time, James noticed the scratches on Remus’s hands and the dried blood on the sleeve of his jacket. “Bloody hell, Moony, it attacked you.”

Remus’s jaw tightened. “Yes.” He rolled up his right sleeve to reveal a bloody gash that traveled up his forearm.

“And your head,” James realized in horror, spotting dark red wounds behind Remus’s ear and on the side of his neck.

“It nearly killed me,” Remus said. “I’d never fought another wolf, and this one was built like a soldier. It was bred for battle, that much was obvious. It was at least two feet taller than me, and far broader. If it wasn’t for instinct, I would’ve died.”

“How did you get away from it?” Sirius asked in shock.

“That’s where it gets even stranger,” Remus said. “It had dragged me out of the shed, I was bleeding everywhere, and it was crouched over me. I thought I was done for – one swipe of its paw and I would’ve died. It was about to attack, but suddenly there was a rustling in the woods, and…something happened. It just got this glazed look in its eyes and it backed off and ran into the forest.”

“There was someone controlling it in the woods?” Sirius wondered.

“I’m almost positive,” Remus replied.

“Imperius Curse?” Peter ventured.

“I’m not sure if it works properly on a werewolf. It’s too volatile a creature,” Remus said. “I reckon it was sent to watch me, under the Imperius, but when it came closer, it became so agitated that it overpowered the spell and attacked.”

“Solid theory,” James approved. “There’s no other reason it would have attacked. Voldemort–” He ignored Peter’s shudder. “–doesn’t woo people to his side by killing them.”

“Normally he just threatens to do so,” Sirius quipped.

“And it explains why whoever cursed the wolf came back to order it away before it killed you,” James continued. “I reckon you wouldn’t be much of an asset to the Death Eaters if you were dead.”

“So you think the other wolf followed you here?” Peter asked.

“I arrived at least an hour before sunset, but I don’t know how long it’s been watching me,” Remus replied. “If it was around all day, it probably saw me come here.”

“It’s almost dark,” Peter said. “A few more minutes and the moon’ll be up.”

Remus glanced at the sky and turned back to them frantically. “You’re not safe,” he urged. “This isn’t some bloody adventure, okay Padfoot? You’re not _safe_. Do you hear me? Go home, before they start sending people after you, too. Go home!”

“What, and leaveyou here to die? Are you barking mad?”

“Sirius–”

“No, Remus, listen to me. We’ve always been in this together. What use is everything we’ve been learning at Hogwarts, everything we’ve taught ourselves, if we can’t actually use it?”

“Sirius, there’s a time and a place–”

“And this is the time! This is the place!”

“Sirius is right, Remus,” James said. “We’re of age now. We’ve become part of this war.”

Remus ground his teeth together in frustration.

“The moon’s up,” Peter warned.

“Go!” Remus said. He hastily unscrewed the cap on the flask of Wolfsbane and downed the liquid inside.

James backed away. “I don’t know how well that potion works,” he said, turning to Sirius and Peter, “but we should move out before he smells us.” He led the others a safe distance away from the clearing.

Moments later, a ray of moonlight fell through the trees and a sudden shudder quaked through Remus’s body. He let out a howl as his back doubled over and his legs morphed, razor-sharp claws shooting out from his feet and digging into the soft earth. His face contorted with pain as it expanded, nose elongating into a snout, teeth transforming into fangs. Another snarl ripped from his chest, and he groaned in agony.

Merely one mile away another cry echoed his. A glazed pair of yellow eyes stared out between the dense trees, focused directly in the direction of the clearing.

 

           
*     *     *

 

Moony lay rigid on the soft bed of dirt, head raised and ears perked. Rings of red circled his tired, hungry eyes, but he could not rest. He felt it; he knew it was lurking in the forest.

A rustling sound from the bramble behind startled him, and with a low growl, Moony snapped his head around. His nose met the familiar scent of his friends: the stag, the dog, and the rat. Relieved, he let out a soft snort and resumed his surveillance.

Prongs nodded to Padfoot and Wormtail. With a reassuring nudge against Moony’s shoulder, the dog and the rat exited the clearing, noses to the ground in search of the second wolf. Prongs stationed himself near Moony, tense and watchful.

 As the sky darkened and the air grew colder that night, a thin frost crept up the trees and stiffened the leaves. From his vigilant stance next to Moony, Prongs shivered. It had been over an hour, yet Padfoot and Wormtail still had not returned. Flashes of worry kept Prongs on his feet and alert with growing panic.

There was a persistent stillness around them – an unpleasant, unnerving silence that had his hair on end. Prongs felt his heart beat in time with the passing seconds. The two animals in the clearing waited restlessly; soon, Prongs, to whom patience was still an elusive concept, began to pace back and forth, stopping every now and then with his nose in the air, sifting through the scents for anything familiar. Another hour passed, and then a third. It was far past midnight, and there was still no sign of Padfoot or Wormtail.

After trotting around the clearing twice, Prongs made a decision. Emitting a low whine, he prodded Moony in the back with his antlers. The werewolf, who was already stiff in his watchful posture, let out a snarl and turned his hard, sharp eyes to the cause of the disturbance. He growled angrily for a second, then something seemed to register in his mind, and he slowly raised himself onto his haunches. After stretching out his legs, Moony stood and looked at Prongs to lead the way.

A flicker of doubt crossed Prongs’s mind, but he quickly dismissed it and made his way out of the clearing, making sure that Moony followed closely behind. The werewolf looked troubled, but the Wolfsbane had tamed him enough that he could venture out in search of their friends.

They trotted through alternating strips of moonlight and shadow, pausing every few feet to adjust their direction based on newly uncovered scents.

Suddenly, a twig cracked. Prongs snapped his head to the left, keen eyes searching the darkness for signs of Padfoot and Wormtail. However, as the noise advanced towards them, the air grew cold. Prongs felt his gut twist horribly, his hair prick up, and his stomach drop. They were being following.

The troubling sensation passed a moment later, and the two quickened their pace as a hint of desperation spurred their steps. It wasn’t long, however, before the frost crept back towards them and Prongs stopped with wide eyes and shallow breathing. Shaken but determined to find Padfoot and Wormtail, he waited until the strange feeling wore off once more before continuing on.

This became a pattern, as though the second werewolf and its manipulator were torturing them with fear. Prongs began to worry that he was becoming paranoid until he realized that he couldn’t hear footsteps behind him anymore. He spun around on his forelegs and froze with shock when his eyes met nothing but darkness. Moony was gone.

 

***

 

Padfoot and Wormtail walked cautiously, noses to the mossy ground, diligently following James’s orders. For at least forty-five minutes, they’d been searching for the second werewolf’s scent, until they realized that they were headed in the wrong direction. Grumbling and groaning, the two of them began to retrace their steps until they simultaneously stopped short. A new smell contaminated a giant oak tree with wicked sourness. Feeling unprotected without his wand, Wormtail began to phase back, but Padfoot shook his shaggy head. They weren’t far enough from the clearing anymore; Moony would smell the human blood and possibly lose control. Instead, they followed the fresh scent with new resolve, traveling fifteen meters north before ducking under a nearby bramble and returning to human form.

“Prongs was right,” Sirius whispered, his voice low and urgent. “Whoever is controlling that wolf came to the forest tonight.” Sirius pulled out his wand. “ _Homenum revelio_.” He waited a few seconds, perplexed, but nothing happened.

“Did you do it right? Steady hand, tight circular motion like Flitwick said?” Peter said.

“Of course I did it right,” Sirius replied impatiently. “Why don’t you try, then, if you’re so ace at charms?”

“ _Homenum revelio_ ,” Peter said, ignoring Sirius’s quip. He frowned. “Nothing But it only covers somewhere around a one-mile radius, so we should follow the scent and try again.”

Suddenly, there was movement between the trees around them. An instant later, two jets of red light shot out in quick succession from behind a nearby hickory, the first hitting Peter square in the chest, and the second striking Sirius’s stomach. Both boys froze instantly, arms and legs locking as a full body-bind curse toppled them to the forest floor. A tangle of ropes bound them together, and in an instant they were both out cold.

 

***

 

Something hairy tickled his ankle. Sirius grunted and forced open a heavy eyelid. He blinked twice to clear his blurred vision, brows furrowing when his gaze met an expanse of cold, dirt-covered forest floor lit by a fading moon – the same clearing he and his friends had inhabited earlier that night. He had been sleeping against a tree with a knot of roots on either side, which formed a make-shift chair upon which his arms had been resting. His legs were splayed stiffly out in front of him, and he groaned slightly as he straightened them.

A large centipede was slowly making its way up his left trouser leg, methodically working its hundred limbs as one machine from his ankle towards his knee. He moved to fling it away from him (he’d always been rather skittish around insects), but as his hand reached across his shin, a thin brown stick lifted the creature into the air.

Puzzled, Sirius’s drowsy eyes traveled up the length of the wand to the pale white hand that held it.

“Sleep well, Black?” a cold voice drawled from above him. A few chuckles issued from the surrounding area.

A pair of cold, gray eyes gazed down at him from a pale, pointed face framed with long blond hair. Sirius stood up quickly.

“Malfoy,” he sneered. He reached into his left pocket, but his hand resurfaced empty.

“Looking for this?” asked a mocking voice from the shadows. A tall, masked figure stepped forward, dangling Sirius’s wand between bony fingers.

“Give it here,” Sirius demanded.

The Death Eater laughed.

“Now, now, Nott,” said Malfoy with false disapproval. “Don’t taunt the boy. You will get your wand back, Black, have no fear.”

“Where are the others?” Sirius said angrily.

“We have not hurt them,” said Malfoy. “Nor do we intend to. They’re here, sleeping.”

Malfoy, Nott, and two other Death Eaters that Sirius did not recognize moved aside to reveal James, who slept against a tree in a position similar to the one Sirius had found himself in, and Peter, who was curled up on the ground with his face pressed into the dirt.

“And Remus?” Sirius snarled. “What’ve you done with him?”

“The werewolf is just outside the clearing – tied up, for everyone’s safety,” answered Malfoy, entirely unaffected by Sirius’s anger. “He will return to human form not long from now. It’s nearly dawn. In the meantime, shall we introduce ourselves?”

Sirius, who stood defiantly at one end of the clearing and was too busy mapping out escape routes and mentally willing James to wake up, did not answer.

Malfoy, unperturbed, carried on. “That’s Nott, over there. Mulciber – his son’s in your year. And Avery – you might know his son, too. He’s in his sixth year now, isn’t that correct, Avery?”

Like the others, Avery was hooded and robed in black with his face concealed under a silvery mask. He gave a nod.

“Well, masks off, boys. We don’t want to seem unfriendly, now do we?” Malfoy said coolly.

Sirius thought it odd that he should speak to them this way, and even odder that they should listen. Nott, Mulciber, and Avery were at least twice Malfoy’s age, yet the twenty-four year old clearly presided over the group.

As the masks came off and their brutal, unpleasant faces were revealed, Sirius could think of no other plan but to keep them talking until James woke.

“In with Voldemort, then, are you, Malfoy?” The Death Eaters hissed as he spoke the name. “What a surprise.”

Malfoy gazed at Sirius with patronizing eyes. “You cannot imagine the power the Dark Lord possesses, Black.”

Sirius snorted. “You Slytherins are all the same – power-hungry cowards.”

James stirred.

Avery’s face twisted into a scowl, but Malfoy continued to regard Sirius calmly.

“You spite your own family,” he said.

“And I enjoy nothing better,” Sirius retorted.

“Pity,” said Malfoy, “to waste such potential, such ingrained talent. But you see, the Dark Lord cares not to which House you belong. He values passion, bravery, and blood – of which yours is the noblest.”

He spoke evenly and coolly, and Sirius understood full well that Malfoy was merely carrying out orders, that his true view of the Marauders was tainted with disdain.

“That sounds marvelous, so I suppose I’ll just join up then.”

“That makes two of us,” said James, who’d woken to hear just enough of the exchange. He dusted himself off and joined Sirius. “So what are the prerequisites, besides cruelty, conceit, and unfortunately foul looks?”

Mulciber stepped forward, wand brandished. Malfoy moved between them warningly.

Peter, who had woken as well, scrambled to his feet behind Nott. “James…” he squeaked in a cautioning tone.

“Did I touch a nerve, Mulciber?” James taunted, ignoring Peter. “You can see where his son inherited that nose, eh Padfoot?”

Sirius sniggered.

“Don’t you dare speak about my son!” Mulciber growled threateningly, lunging forward.

“The Dark Lord’s orders, Mulciber,” cautioned Malfoy, placing a restraining hand on the man’s shoulder. “Remember the Dark Lord’s orders.”

James threw Peter a meaningful look as Mulciber lowered his wand reluctantly. Peter gave a subtle half-nod and lingered behind Nott with his eyes focused on the left pocket of the Death Eater’s robes.

“You must be a proud father,” James goaded, distracting the Death Eaters as Peter slipped four wands, one by one, out of Nott’s pocket. “Your son frolics around school torturing innocent girls with Dark Magic. It’s no wonder he and his mates never have dates to Hogsmeade. But then _you_ managed to find someone, so there is hope after all.”

“You arrogant little–” Mulciber’s snarl was cut short by a pointed glare from Malfoy.

A low moan from the forest distracted them, turning the Death Eaters’ attention to a spot away from the clearing.

“The werewolf has returned to human form,” observed Avery. “Kittering must have phased back, as well. Shall we summon him, Lucius?”

Malfoy nodded and glanced up through the trees at the sky, which had turned a pinkish color as night and day battled for dominance. He turned and led the Death Eaters to Remus.

Peter used the opportunity to join James and Sirius, hurriedly returning two of the wands to their rightful owners.

“Fancy a little duel, Prongs?” Sirius asked quietly, the smirk on his face accompanied by a dangerously reckless glint in his eye.

“I always do, but I reckon they don’t,” James answered in a low voice as he gestured in the direction of the Death Eaters. “They’re recruiting, remember? Not killing.”

“All the same…”

“Remus will be too weak, Sirius,” Peter pointed out. “We can’t do anything to endanger him further.”

The four men returned, Remus trailing tiredly behind them, his expression wary as he surveyed the situation. A moment later, there was a loud crack and a cloud of dust erupted from the forest floor. As the dust cleared, it revealed a large, burly man with short tufts of brown hair sprouting from his otherwise-bald scalp lying prostrate on the ground. His face showed nothing but exhaustion, a sharp contrast to the brawn of his body. Too tired to greet them, he remained flat against the dirt, blank face seeing nothing.

Mulciber glanced at him in disgust.

“Get up, you dumb brute,” he said, flicking his wand at the man, whose eyes immediately glazed over as he pulled himself to his feet. “Gentlemen,” Mulciber continued, addressing the Marauders. “I present to you Travis Kittering.”

He flicked his wand again and Kittering raised his right hand in a formal salute. The Death Eaters snickered.

“Kittering is a…friend, you might say, of Greyback’s,” said Mulciber. “Much like you, Mr. Lupin.”

Remus’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Noticing his anger, Malfoy pointed his own wand at Kittering, allowing the man to seek rest on the ground once more.

“Excuse Mulciber,” he said. “He enjoys theatrics. But as I promised, we did not come here to harm you.”

“No, you came to follow and to capture us because you thought that would frighten us into joining Voldemort,” James retorted, spitting the dark wizard’s name like venom.

“The Dark Lord would value your service,” said Avery. “He has been informed of your talents at school, and is impressed.”

“Our dreams are finally coming true,” mocked Sirius.

“You should be honored,” Avery hissed.

“Your arrogance proves only your ignorance,” said Malfoy. “The Dark Lord will show you – there are things worth killing for!”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Things worth _killing_ for?”

“The Dark Lord has powers beyond your control, ideas beyond your imagination!” Nott burst out, speaking for the first time. His voice became suddenly impassioned. “He stands for the wizarding world as a whole, to fortify and to unify! He fights to protect us against Muggles, who force us into hiding with their jealousy and intolerance! His fight is the noble fight, the winning fight, and he will be victorious.”

“Hear, hear,” the others murmured.

“You poor, misguided little bugger,” Remus said, shaking his head.

Malfoy ignored him. “Don’t act rashly. You are not children anymore. You are entering your seventh and final year of Hogwarts; the decisions you make matter now more than ever. Choose the right side, and remember that when it comes to his adversaries, the Dark Lord spares no one.”

“And if you’re ever having doubts,” Mulciber added, addressing Sirius as a sneer twisted his lips, “remember that your brother fit right in.”

Sirius’s face contorted with murderous rage.

“Did I touch a nerve, Black?” Mulciber mocked, echoing James’s previous words.

Sirius let out a roar of fury and shouted “ _Stupefy!_ ” but Mulciber blocked the spell easily. Sirius lifted his wand again, but Malfoy raised a Shield Charm in front of all four Death Eaters.

“You found your wands, very good,” said Malfoy, lifting an eyebrow. He paused, eyes flicking between them as his face adopted the cold mask of contempt he had fought to control all night. “There’s a foolish cause and a worthy cause,” he finally said. “Abandon your romantic dreams and open your eyes to reality, unless you  _cowardice_ prevents you from doing so.”

With these last words, the Death Eaters vanished into black dust, taking Travis Kittering along and leaving the angry shouts of the Marauders unheard.

“ _That_ was it?” James demanded incredulously. “That was what all the running around was for? I could’ve had the same conversation with _Snape_ , for Merlin’s sake.”

“Well, what else were they going to do? Show up at our doors with friendly leaflets?” Remus countered. His eyes were bloodshot and his thin frame threatened to collapse. He sank onto a nearby rock with a groan. James moved towards him with concern, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sure they’re gone?” Peter asked, looking around suspiciously.

“You heard Malfoy,” James replied. “They weren’t here to hurt us. They came to sell us the idea of the Dark Arts. ‘He stands to fortify and unify!’” James mimicked in an over-dramatically passionate voice. “‘His fight is the noble fight!’ What a load of bollocks. Did Voldemort really think we’d buy that rubbish?”

Sirius, who was still glowering at Muciber’s mention of his brother, finally spoke. “Waste of time if you ask me, coming after us.”

Peter nodded. “Of all the people at Hogwarts, we’d be the last to join You-Know-Who.”

“I just don’t understand why they sent a werewolf after Moony,” James said. “Of all the ways to get our attention…”

“Well, it’s obvious isn’t it,” Remus realized. “Bait. They’re using me to get to the rest of you. They know you’re always around me, especially at full moon…” His voice trailed off bitterly.

The other three exchanged glances.

“But why a werewolf?” Peter asked. “Why couldn’t they have just trailed you themselves?”

“If they’re sending it to do all their bidding, it keeps them a safe distance away from me at full moon–” Remus stopped short as a violent cough racked through his body. He shivered slightly, looking paler than ever.

“Let’s get you home,” said James, helping him stand. He and Sirius propped their weary friend up with an arm around each of them, and the four  Marauders,  mud-caked and exhausted, disappeared from the forest with a crack.


	5. Teatime

A/N: So, it's been a while. Inspiration struck, finally. Bear with me through all the jumps in time - these first few chapters are just some snippets leading up to 7th year that I wanted to include both as a way to build up to their final year, as well as in order to reveal certain events or relationships between characters - I promise this is the random summer snippet, and then, next chapter, Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, here they come. 

 

 

  


 

Teatime 

 

_Earlier in the day, the day Sirius arrives at the Potters’ doorstep._

 

“Lily, there’s a boy at the door.” 

Lily didn’t have to look up from her book to recognize Petunia’s shrill voice. She stood above Lily, who was splayed out on her stomach in the Evans’ small backyard, blades of grass tickling her toes and staining her bare knees, red hair glinting copper in the June sun. 

“Lily, didn’t you hear me?” Petunia said, tapping her silver kitten heels impatiently next to Lily’s face.

“Yeah, there’s a boy at the door,” Lily replied, still immersed in her book.

“Yes, Lily, at the door.”

“Okay.”

“Aren’t you going to get it?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m not either.”

“Okay.”

“But you might want to.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Lily, you really might want to get the door. Lily!” 

Petunia kicked aside Lily’s book, narrowing her eyes when she saw the cover. 

“You shouldn’t be reading that out here,” she said disapprovingly.

Lily grabbed it and clutched it protectively to her chest.

“And why not?” she asked, shielding her face from the sun with one hand as she squinted up at her sister.

“Because we’re in broad daylight and I don’t want the neighbors to know I’m related to a _freak_ ,” Petunia sneered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Lily, who by now was used to such snide insults, merely rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. Would you go away? If you stick around too much, my freakishness may rub off on you.”

“Always concerned for my welfare, aren’t you, Lily.”

“Anything for my dearest sister,” Lily replied with mock sweetness. “You should go inside. I’m sure the heat must be ruining your hair.”

“For your information, I’ve just sprayed it with my new humidity-resistant hairspray.”

“I don’t think it’s working.”

“It’s working fine, thank you.”

“I dunno…looking a bit poofy to me.”

“It’s called _volume._ Not all of us have thin carrot hair.”

“Go away.”

“No!”

Lily groaned. “Why not?”

“Because there’s a boy at the door!”

“I’m sure he’s gone by now.”

“I’m sure he’s not. He’s been there all morning.”

“In front of _our_ house? _Why_?” Lily asked, suddenly interested.

“How am _I_ supposed to know? He’s just sitting there.”

“So?”

“So can you go out there and see what he wants?”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because he’s…you know…” 

“No, I don’t.”

Petunia glanced around cautiously before leaning in as close as she dared, carefully avoiding the book in Lily’s hand.

“Because he’s like you.”

Lily snickered. “I suppose that explains why you won’t talk to him.”

“No,” Petunia said, shaking her head impatiently. “He’s _like_ you.”

“Oh!” Lily said, pleasantly surprised as she understood, and also rather amused at Petunia’s avoidance of the word. “You mean he’s a wiz-”

“Shhh!” Petunia interrupted hastily, looking around to make sure all their neighbors were out of earshot. “Yes. He is.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw his, erm, y’know. His…thing.”

“You saw his _thing_?” Lily shrieked, sitting up and covering her mouth as she shook with gleeful laughter.

“No! No, no, not _that_ thing!” Petunia cried, horrified.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Lily said, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Will you just talk to him now?”

“What did he look like?” Lily asked, wondering what wizard could possibly be at _her_ doorstep.

“I don’t know. Black hair, tall…trouble, if you ask me.”

“Gee, thanks, Petunia. I know exactly who you’re talking about.”

“Stop being so difficult, Lily. I’m going out with Vernon. That boy better not still be here when I get back.”

Petunia’s heels clicked down the patio towards the gate at the side yard, which she swung open and disappeared through in an instant. A minute later, Lily heard a loud giggle and the squeal of tires, signaling the departure of her horse-faced sister and the corresponding pork-faced beau. 

Sighing, Lily dragged herself to her feet, brushing grass from her clothes and placing _Transfiguration for Squibs_ carefully on the patio table. She meandered through the family room, the kitchen, and the parlor, making a beeline for the large front windows. Sure enough, sitting on the porch steps was a very familiar face. Lily threw open the front door in surprise.

“Black?”

Sirius Black whipped around, and, spotting Lily and her bewildered expression, grinned widely.

“Hullo Evans!”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Just in the neighborhood…thought I’d pop by.”

“There’s a doorbell, you know. You didn’t have to sit out on the porch all morning.”

Sirius looked sheepish. “I couldn’t decide if seeing you was a good idea or not,” he admitted.

“Why? What’s wrong with me?” Lily asked, slightly offended. 

“No, no. Not you. It’s more about…well, never mind. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Lily opened the door a little wider and stood aside. Sirius picked up a dirty brown rucksack from the porch steps and swung it over his right shoulder before entering the Evans household. Lily’s nose crinkled at the cloud of dirt he brought in with him.

“Have you been living in a sewer? Honestly, Black, you smell like rat droppings.”

“Thanks, Evans. Always know how to cheer me up, you do.”

“You want a wash or something?”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Black. I do know how to be a good hostess.”

“Thanks for the offer Evans, but I haven’t got a change of clothes.”

Lily surveyed his dirt-caked apparel: worn black combat boots, a ripped pair of jeans, and a baggy black t-shirt with the Puddlemere United logo emblazoned on the front.

She shrugged. “I’ve got one of Petunia’s old pink frocks, if you like.”

“That sounds swell, but I think I’ll settle for a cup of tea or something.”

“Suit yourself. But before you spread that delightful odor to the rest of the house…” Lily pointed her wand at Sirius and said firmly, “ _Tergeo!_ ”

In an instant, the mud vanished from his clothes and face. 

“Not bad,” Sirius said appreciatively. 

Lily moved him to the kitchen and sat him down on a stool opposite the counter, where she poured him a cup of the tea that Petunia had made in the morning. He fiddled with the handle of the cup for a minute before finally taking a sip.

“Good tea, Evans,” he said.

“Petunia’s.”

“Ah, and where is this Petunia, the lovely sister I hear so little about?”

“Gone with her pig of a boyfriend, Vernon,” Lily replied, rolling her eyes.

“And your parents? They’re out as well?”

“Planning on murdering me, Black? Removing all witnesses?”

“You’re too sharp for me, Evans.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “Sirius.”

He caught her gaze and sighed.

She softened her tone. “Sirius, what are you doing here?”

Sirius opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. He abruptly set down his tea and pushed the stool back, beginning to stand.

“This was probably a mistake,” he said, shaking his head. “I should go.”

“Sirius, sit down.”

His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t move.

Lily tried again. “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything. Just _sit_. Eat something. You look starved. Bread and jam? Simple, but incredibly effective.” She waggled her eyebrows at him.

After a pause, Sirius reluctantly resumed his seat on the wicker stool.

“That’s what I thought,” Lily said smugly. 

He rolled his eyes but accepted the plate she pushed over to him. As he ate, Lily turned on the television to a old re-run of _Coronation Street_ , one of Petunia’s favorite soaps. Grunting in disapproval, Sirius snagged the remote from her and flipped through channels with the ease of a Muggle until he found a local news network. 

“ _Dana Sherrington, 17, reported missing last Friday, was found dead this morning three miles from her home,_ ” the newswoman said, as pictures of a smiling blond girl flashed across the screen. “ _Medical reports show serious head trauma, several slashes across the face, and two bizarre puncture wounds on the wrist. Local police claim the assault mirrors many recent attacks in and around London, but investigators remain unable to find the culprit of these serial murders._ ”

“Greyback,” Sirius muttered darkly. 

He didn’t protest when Lily changed the channel back to the mindless soap network. They watched in silence as a Janet appeared at a Ken’s door, begging him to take her back. 

“Muggles and their damn tellies,” Sirius said, shaking his head at the drama that was unfolding onscreen. 

Lily snickered. “Tell Petunia that.”

Sirius took another sip of tea. 

“I left home,” he offered quite suddenly.

Lily quickly muted the TV with a raised eyebrow. “You mean you ran away?”

“Essentially.”

“When?”

“’Bout two weeks ago.”

“So you _have_ been living in sewers, then,” she exclaimed, horrified.

Sirius grinned a little. “Hardly, Evans. I’ve been staying with my Uncle Alphard, the only sane one in my family…although the rest don’t set the bar very high.”

“He lives nearby?” Lily inquired.

“About a twenty minute walk from your place, I reckon,” Sirius replied. Then, after a moment, “Almost as close as Snape’s.”

Lily’s eyes snapped to his with disapproval. “What did you do, Black?”

“As if I would ever, Evans!” Sirius grinned. He looked around, fiddled with the lazy frill of the nearby window curtain, then said, “You know, I can’t imagine Snape growing up in a place like this.”

Lily stared at the same frilly fabric. “He didn’t.” 

Spinner’s End, though nearby, was like a different world. Lily remembered noting, whenever she had met Sev at their childhood playground, that her wiry friend always had a touch of soot on him, as if the industrial air of his neighborhood clung to him in rebellion when he neared Lily’s suburban hamlet. 

“So…why’d you do it? Run away, I mean,” Lily asked cautiously, aware that she was pushing the bounds of their newly-formed friendship.

Sirius, also very aware of this fact, regarded her with a ponderous expression. “You know, Evans,” he finally said, “sometimes you ask too many questions.”

Lily understood that this meant he didn’t want to tell her, so she refrained from pressing the matter. Instead, she refilled his tea.

“So why are you so bloody dirty, anyway?”

“Most girls don’t complain about that.” Sirius winked.

“Yuck, Black. You’re jeopardizing our blossoming friendship with vulgarity. But seriously, doesn’t your uncle have a bathroom?”

“I actually left his place two days ago,” Sirius admitted. Then, anticipating her question, “He had things to take care of.”

Lily raised an eyebrow at his evasiveness. 

“So then you lived in a gutter, till today, when you decided to pop by the Evans’ for some tea.” Lily’s brow was furrowed with genuine confusion, and she hoped Sirius would understand that she wasn’t trying to be too unfriendly.

“Merlin, it sounds right bizarre when you put it like that.”

“I don’t mind,” Lily said quickly. “It’s actually quite nice to see a familiar face. I’ve been around strictly Muggles for long enough that I was beginning to think that I had just dreamed up the whole magic thing. I’m just surprised to see you, is all.”

“I wasn’t living in a gutter,” Sirius finally explained. “I was just bumming around that park a few streets over, when I remembered that you live here. And who could pass that up, eh, Evans?”

Lily let out a half-exasperated, half-amused snort, then, regarding him almost fondly, said, “I’m glad you came. But now what?” 

“I’m actually heading to the Potters’ today.” Sirius’s eyebrows rose slightly, as if judging her reaction.

“Oh.” 

Some reaction.

“Want me to pass along a love letter?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “I see your arsenal of jibes has greatly expanded, Black.”

“Why fix what ain’t broke, Evans?”

“Why didn’t you go there straight from your uncle’s? From what I gather, the Potters love you…the poor chaps.”

“I suppose I was sulking a bit. James’s family is right wonderful, the lucky bastard. Mine, not so much.”

It was this spontaneous candor that reminded Lily why she’d always wanted to be friends with Sirius Black. Then, his eyes were quickly back on Janet and Ken on _Coronation Street_. Lily mimicked him, and they spent the afternoon just like that. 

Finally, when dusk began to settle, Sirius thanked Lily by aggressively tousling her hair (much to her chagrin) and promising he would give James a “wet, sloppy one” for her; he then picked up his rucksack, gave her a wink, turned on his heel, and disappeared instantly into thin air.

Lily was left to look around the room, still flabbergasted by the events of the day. Later that night, as she lay splayed out on her stomach in her small bed, moonlight filtering through her window to illuminate the pages of _Transfiguration for Squibs_ , it quite suddenly occurred to her that giving James Potter a “wet, sloppy one” might not be the worst thing in the world.

 


End file.
